


Brunch

by redstaronmyshoulder (CaptainAmelia22)



Series: Tumblr Drabble [21]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel
Genre: Drabble, M/M, Sexual Tension, making breakfast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 14:07:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6988066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainAmelia22/pseuds/redstaronmyshoulder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barnes liked to watch him work out. </p><p>He’d felt eyes on him one day, right in the middle of a set of bench press reps and he’d smirked to himself before settling deeper into the bench and manfully groaning as he eased his bare arms slowly up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brunch

**Author's Note:**

> I got this idea the other day while listening to the Have a Great Day! playlist on Spotify. Check it out, it'll make for a great way to spend this Friday afternoon! 
> 
> Love always.
> 
> -M

 

Barnes liked to watch him work out. 

He’d felt eyes on him one day, right in the middle of a set of bench press reps and he’d smirked to himself before settling deeper into the bench and manfully groaning as he eased his bare arms slowly up.

His music-it was a Spotify playlist he’d stumbled across by accident one day, this weird mix of Aretha, the Beatles and Carly Rae Jepsen-blasted through the gym and he almost laughed. Steve liked having the gym quiet when he worked out; Nat listened to heavy-hitting Transylvanian house; Wanda listened to a weird combination of Sokovian folk music and electro. 

Barnes probably didn’t know what good music was. 

 _I Can See Clearly_ started playing just as he finished his reps and he grunted dramatically, setting the weights back into their clip. He made sure to not glance towards the ventilation shaft across the gym and his smirk grew as he stretched and made a show of just how low his shorts were. 

He didn’t have Cap’s super-senses but he could almost feel that gaze sharpen and his smirk grew. 

 _Mr. Jones_  began to play as he headed towards the rack of weights stacked against the wall. He’d already done some reps with the 40 pounders but that was before he’d had an audience. He settled in, shaking his shoulders a few times as he sang under his breath, “Believe in me, believe in anything...”

He began to curl and something rustled in the shaft just a few feet away. 

He didn’t say a thing, just curled his arm up slowly, breathing steadily through his nose and enjoying the burn of muscles and the burn of those dark eyes on his body. 

By the time the playlist was done-ending on _(I Can’t Get No)_   _Satisfaction,_ he was spent, every muscle in his body burning sweetly and his audience of one was breathing a little heavy in that shaft.

He just stretched one last time, giving that shaft a good look at his ass and as the Stones began to trail off he stripped shoes and sweaty shorts off and headed towards the locker room.

A satisfying clatter issued from the shaft, followed by a soft voice cursing and he had to slam the locker room door closed before Barnes could hear him laughing. 

**

Sam was usually the first one up in the mornings-a product of too many years in the Army-and so breakfast duty kind of fell to him.

Not that he minded. Natasha’s answer to breakfast was Turkish coffee and this dry cereal she could only find at a Russian grocery store in Queens. Which she didn’t even eat with milk. Or a bowl.

The heathen. 

Scott was okay, but he’d make smiley faces out of the eggs and bacon and cut the toast in weird designs. 

Which was weird.

Except for when Cassie was visiting and then Sam would make her chocolate chip Mickey Mouse pancakes, which she’d eat before her Dad’s lame smiley face eggs. 

Steve was fine with anything, as long as he got his regular old black coffee and oatmeal.

Sam knew he’d never be able to break him free of that habit so he just made sure to add blueberries to the nasty grey slop that Steve didn’t even try to sweeten. 

Wanda ate anything and everything; there were times when he’d get up and she’d be sitting in front of the open fridge, eating last night’s leftovers right out of the tupperware. Nat thought it might be because her powers made her metabolism work overtime that she was constantly hungry but Sam didn’t care.

He was going to make her her own damn stack of pancakes and make sure she ate every single one of them every damn morning if he had to. 

Barnes though...

Barnes was quiet and would eat literally anything set in front of him with very little comment. Including Nat’s nasty Communist cereal-which he thought Barnes might actually enjoy, considering how many times he’d caught the two of them tossing pieces of the shit at each other from across the table, trying to catch it in their mouths, laughing and teasing each other in Russian. 

Sam made it his goal to figure out what James Buchanan Barnes’ favorite breakfast was, if it meant he’d have to take cooking classes and actually learn how to make crepes (which were the devil, by the way). 

One morning he was jamming out to the Spotify playlist he’d been listening to non-stop for the past few days ( _My Girl_ was playing this time, the Temptations filling the 5 a.m. gloom with brightness), fiddling with the waffle maker Scott had brought back from San Francisco-it was special for some reason but Sam hadn’t listened too much beyond hearing Scott say “makes the best good luck waffles, man! It won’t let you down!”

There was a rustle at the kitchen door as the Temptations faded away into The Who, bare feet scuffing on the cold tile, and he turned from his batter to see Barnes staring at him, eyes bleary with sleep and hair sticking up in every direction. He was shirtless, his shorts slung low over his hips and Sam got his first eyeful of the damage the Soviets and Hydra had wreaked on the guy’s body.

Nastily twisted scars radiated from his new shiny metal shoulder-courtesy of Wakanda-and trailed across his heavily muscled chest all the way down his ribcage. 

Barnes’ eyes were dark, haunted and Sam sighed inwardly. 

“Hey man, I’m about to make some waffles with this shitty iron Small Bean brought back from San Fran,” he said, turning back to his batter and grabbing the nutmeg off of the shelf. _You’re So Vain_  started to play and he couldn’t stop himself from sashaying a bit in his socks and singing the high parts under his breath, using the nutmeg grater as a mic. 

Barnes visibly shook himself and eased into the kitchen; he was trying to make himself small, trying to keep his movements controlled and non-threatening. 

Sam shook his hips a little harder and sang a little louder, stirring the batter quickly with the whisk and didn’t make a show of watching Barnes out of the corner of his eye. 

“You like strawberries?” he asked when Carly Simon turned into Duffy. Barnes hesitated before easing into a chair and nodding. “All right, hope you have a sweet tooth because these are going to be ridiculous!” he said, pouring an overflowing ladleful onto the hot iron. 

Duffy’s raspy voice washed over them, the bass plucking out a heavy rhythm perfect for dancing and Sam made a mental note to look up some of her other stuff.  

_I’m begging you for mercy, just why won’t you release me?_

He added a pelvic thrust and a little bit of a hip pop to his sashaying and grinned when he heard a soft snort and an _oh my God,_  coming from the table. 

The waffle iron buzzed and he flipped it dramatically, turning to crook a finger at Barnes as he did;  _I don’t know what this is, but you got me good,_  he mouthed, eyes squeezed nearly closed, getting really into the music now. Barnes was flushed, chin cupped in his hand and his eyes weren’t quite as haunted as they’d been when he’d arrived in the kitchen doorway. 

The waffle iron buzzed again, the smell of fresh waffles washing over them and Barnes’ stomach growled, betraying him. Sam chuckled and turned back to the counter, Pat Benatar easing from the wireless speaker now. The waffle was perfectly golden-dammit Scott was right, this was the _greatest_  iron Sam had ever used-and his stomach started to growl as well as he ladled fresh whipped cream over top of it followed by the strawberries Wanda had brought back from the farmer’s market. 

“There you go,” he said, grinning as he slid the plate in front of Barnes, followed by a fork. “ _That_  is a masterpiece.” 

Barnes glanced from the melting pile of cream, dotted by berries, to him and frowned. 

“Where’s yours?” he asked, glancing towards the cooling iron. Sam snorted and sprawled in the chair next to his. 

“What’re you talking about?” he grinned, grabbing the fork and cutting a bit of the waffle off to scoop into his mouth. “This is the kind of waffle you share, Barnes.” 

He grinned, licking cream slowly off his lips and was rewarded with James Buchanan Barnes turning a dark red and choking on air. 

 _Sugar, Sugar_  started to play in the background and Sam held the fork out, eyebrow cocked and foot pressed between Barnes’ legs. 

“Wanna bite?” 

**

He caught Barnes humming The Kinks one day. 

He was in the kitchen, struggling to crack eggs without completely demolishing them in the cool metal of his hand, and Sam leaned in the doorway for a moment, content for now to just watch. 

Barnes had been avoiding him since the waffle, making a point of coming late to breakfast, when there would be witnesses and just Natasha’s nasty cereal left. 

He hadn’t missed any of Sam’s workouts though, he’d noticed, lips quirking at the memory of Barnes sneezing the other day while he’d run laps in the gym. 

He’d been going shirtless to every single one of his workouts lately. Been making a point of wearing tighter than normal shorts. 

Putting on a show, breaking down barriers as best he could without making too big of a deal of it. 

And without looking at that damn ventilation shaft. 

Barnes grumbled under his breath, brow wrinkling when an egg popped in his hand and yellow yolk dribbled over his fingers; Sam bit back a laugh at the sight of the man picking eggshells out of the Pyrex measuring cup and shook his head. 

Finally three eggs were cracked and beaten, the metal fork scraping along the edges of the cup, and Barnes was humming a bit louder, his hips rotating slightly as he sidled up to the stove and the waiting pan.

Sam’s eyebrows rose at the sight of the omelet pan and he glanced with interest towards the counter Barnes had been standing in front of.

Chopped veggies were organized in little piles across the cutting board there; all of them were fairly uniform too, Sam noticed with interest, the knife Barnes had used one of the expensive stainless steel blades even Sam was afraid of using. 

He turned back to the stove just as Barnes poured his beaten eggs carefully into the pan, the metal fingers of his arm humming as he adjusted his grip and Sam’s eyes narrowed, suddenly understanding what was happening. 

Motor skills. Barnes was trying to get better control of the arm’s fine motor skills. 

By cooking. 

_Son of a bitch._

The eggs popped and sizzled in the pan, Barnes rotating it carefully, his brow furrowed as he focused on keeping the eggs from burning and his fingers from bending the pan’s handle.

He was humming _Call Me, Maybe_ now, idly singing the words under his breath and Sam couldn’t keep from grinning when he caught the little snippets of _here’s my number, so call me maybe?_  issuing from the former assassin’s lips. 

Peppers were added to the eggs, followed by spinach, cheese and onions and the mouthwatering scent of cooking veggies began to wash through the kitchen towards Sam. 

Barnes flipped the hanging edge of the omelet carefully, using his finger when the spatula failed him and there was something so unbelievably endearing and sexy at the sight of him licking the digit clean and smiling happily down at the omelet. 

The stove snapped off and the pan was moved towards the waiting plate next to the sink and Sam’s stomach was really growling now; he cringed and prepared to fade out of the doorway, before Barnes caught sight of him on his way to the table but froze when the other man glanced at him over his shoulder and grinned. 

“So you going to come in here and eat this with me or are you going to lurk in the doorway and stare at my ass some more?” he asked, eyebrow cocking. 

Sam choked out a laugh and pushed off the door to step into the kitchen. 

“I didn’t think you’d be an omelet kind of guy,” he said, leaning in to sniff it appreciatively. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Barnes shrugged and set the plate down, next to a single fork. “Didn’t want to put you to any trouble,” he said, hooking a foot in his chair to pull it free of the table; he sat carefully-mindful of Wanda’s warning that if they broke another chair they’d all be forced to eat on the kitchen floor-and kicked a chair for Sam free as well. 

He cut off bit of egg and popped it into his mouth, eyes closing blissfully as the savory flavors washed over his tongue and Sam almost groaned at the sight of him smiling and sighing. 

Light blue-grey eyes opened and a fork full of omelet was offered to Sam. “Wanna bite?” Barnes asked, voice husky and lips curled in a small, knowing smile. 

“Yeah,” Sam said, taking the fork and egg between his lips and making a show of dragging his teeth slowly down the implement’s prongs. “I wanna bite.” 

Barnes blushing was the perfect side dish to his damned delicious omelet. 

**

Barnes had a thing for terrible pop music. 

 _Oh no, see you walkin’ ‘round like it’s a funeral_ , he mouthed, eyes sparkling as he used an 80 pound weight as a mic. Sam snorted and continued curling his own weights up towards his chin, breathing steadily as he did.

“I should have known you’d be a Jo Bro,” he said, shaking his head as Barnes sashayed in front of him and mouthed, _I-I-I-I-I-I keep on hoping we'll eat cake by the ocean._

Cool metal brushed him when Barnes came up behind him and trailed a soft kiss over the back of his neck, stubbled cheek rubbing lightly on Sam’s. 

“I don’t know what that is,” Barnes said, chest vibrating as he laughed. The music washed around them and Sam lowered the weights into their racks before turning to face the other man. 

Their chests brushed as their hips began to rotate in time with the music and each other and he grinned, reaching up to flick a strand of hair that had fallen free of Barnes’ bun into his eyes. 

 _Want another taste, I'm begging, yes ma'am,_  issued from the speaker at his back and Sam couldn’t drag his eyes from the sight of Barnes’ smiling lips and the bright happiness in his eyes. 

“C’mere,” he blurted, unable to stop himself from tugging the other man’s head down and pressing a light kiss to his mouth. “I wanna bite,” he growled, his free hand tight on Barnes’ hip, locking him in place. 

“But we already had breakfast,” Barnes whispered, eyes closing slowly, his massive body easing against Sam’s, their hips still rocking in time to the stupid Joe Jonas song as it trailed off. 

“Man,” Sam laughed, starting to push him towards the mats stacked in the corner. “I have _got_ to introduce you to this thing called brunch.” 

Justin Timberlake’s new song began to play, their naked, sweaty chests sliding together and Barnes was grinning as he tugged Sam’s head down for a kiss. 

“As long as you’ll share your waffles with me, Wilson,” he growled as Justin crooned, _It's in the air, it's in my blood, it's rushing on._

Sam snorted and bit gently down on Barnes’ full bottom lip. “I dunno man,” he said, grinding his hips slowly into the other man’s. “Are they chocolate chip, ‘cause if they are, the only person I’ll share them with is Cassie.” 

Barnes just laughed and tightened his hands on Sam’s hips, pulling him into that sweet friction Sam had begun to crave. 

 _I can't stop the feeling, So just dance, dance, dance,_  Justin sang and yeah.

Yeah, this was the kind of brunch the two of them needed. 


End file.
